


Well, that escalated quickly.

by omgmybffmegatron



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Rating: NC17, Rough Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgmybffmegatron/pseuds/omgmybffmegatron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday fic for a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, that escalated quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> Universe: IDW/AHM  
> Pairing: Perceptor/Drift  
> Rating: NC17  
> Warnings: Sticky, rough, dom-Perceptor
> 
> Birthday fic for Ratha. :)
> 
> Staying away from chapter fics for awhile, too, because I’m having trouble keeping them updated.

Perceptor busied himself with tedious chores, such as replacing one of the control panels in the washracks.  Everyone else was still recharging—or they were  _supposed_  to be.  So, when he heard footsteps, he was more than a little miffed that his  _me time_  was interrupted.

He kept quiet as he listened, trying to figure out who it was.  The steps were light and calculated.  He could only assume it was a smaller, more graceful mech; definitely not one of the heavier builds.

The sniper peered around the edge of his stall when he heard the cleanse cycle begin.  Through the haze, he could make out a pair of white finials—a clear indicator of who it was.

“You can stop spying on me, now.”

Perceptor sputtered and stood.  “I was not  _spying_  on you.”

Drift turned halfway, throwing an amused smirk in his direction.  “You’re not the only one who takes advantage of the crew’s downtime, you know…”  He turned back around as he drew the cloth over his chest.  “I know about your rituals.”

“Do you?”

“ _Please._   I was  _there_ , remember?”

Perceptor sat his tools aside and rounded the corner, approaching Drift’s stall.  “What has Ratchet told you?” he inquired coolly.

“He told me there isn’t a cure, yet.”

“That must worry you.”

Drift paused and stared down at his rag.  “It does, actually.”  He sat the cloth aside and turned around to face the sniper fully.  There was a hint of irritation in his voice.  He had been holding back since he met the once timid scientist on board Turmoil’s ship.  Perceptor had left such a strong impression on him.  “You know, Perceptor, I’m not some heartless beast.  I know what the others have been saying.  I know Blurr’s been doing a lot of it.”

“If this is some kind of confession…”

“I like you.”

Perceptor gave a slow, understanding nod.  “You like me.”

“I’m not good with words, okay?”

“Yes, Blurr has mentioned your little flaw.”  The sniper paused, catching Drift’s wince.  “If it’s any consolation, I couldn’t care less of your inability to read and write, or understand various common terms.  I am not one to judge, and I am certainly not going to bring you down for it.  Now,” he added with a smile, “instead of telling me how you feel, perhaps you can show me.”  It wasn’t every day someone claimed to actually  _like_  him.  He felt like a young, anime school girl realizing that her super dream husband was finally falling head-over-heels for her.

But then it happened.

Drift lunged forward and pulled the sniper into a kiss, fully expecting the other mech to return his affection.  It was the only way he could communicate his feelings for Perceptor, and it was better to go ahead and get it off his chest while he had the chance.

Perceptor, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly prepared for it.  He ended the kiss, his optic wide and locked on the floor as a flood of heat raced across his facial plating.  Noo~  He wasn’t ready!  “T-That’s not what I had in mind,” he managed.

No words could explain the utter embarrassment they both felt while standing there; listening to the fluctuating rush of anxiety overwhelming the steady beat of cleanser as it pelted their frames.

Drift was the first to speak, though his words came out in simple mumbles.  The former Decepticon scolded himself for being so stupid as to misunderstand Perceptor’s meaning.  He immediately began to wonder if it was because of his past.  He figured no one would want  _damaged goods._

Quite the contrary…

“I have never been  _kissed_  before.”

“You mean… You’re not disgusted?”

Perceptor straightened, lowering his hand.  “No.  I told you-“

“You don’t judge.”  Drift kept his gaze off the scientist.  “What  _did_  you have in mind?”

“Well, I was going to suggest we gradually build our relationship—courting, if you will.”

The swordsmech frowned.  He wasn’t used to  _courting._   He rose up from a despairing world where mechs and fembots alike kept it strictly business; there were no feelings involved.  And for awhile, he thought it was best, but after Wing’s death, Drift began to feel exceedingly lonely.  Perhaps it was part of the reason why he chose to accept Kup’s offer.

“I’m sorry, Perceptor.”

“Then again…”  He paused, watching Drift.  “We are not guaranteed tomorrow.”

“If… If you have never been kissed before now, am I right to assume you’re _untouched_  as well?”

Perceptor’s features hardened.  “Yes.”  He took note of his savior’s worried expression.  “I am a very private mech, Drift.  Forgive me if certain things still provoke undesirable reactions.”  Maybe once they get to know each other better…

“No, it’s fine.  I’m sorry for seeming so eager, heh.”

“It’s quite all right.”  Perceptor murmured something using a different Cybertronian dialect, completely taking Drift off guard.  It was something along the lines of ‘if anything, your enthusiasm is rather endearing.’

“That’s rude, you know,” Drift said with a playful smirk.

“I can be a rude person.”

“So… You’ll give me a chance?”

Perceptor lifted a hand to the swordsmech’s cheek.  He could bore him with the whole ‘why pursue me?’ speech, but kissing Drift again—properly, mind you—sounded much more appealing.

Drift felt the scientist’s fingers graze his lips before the larger mech leaned in and kissed him slowly, deeply.  With everyone else still recharging, they had the washracks to themselves.  That thought alone sent desire through Drift’s frame.

“For a virgin, you’re one hell of a kisser,” the racer smirked.

“The Internet.”

“Whatever works~” Drift slipped his arms around the sniper and kissed him a third time, pressing the mech back against the wall.  “Open your panel,” he muttered; easing his hand between Perceptor’s thighs until his command was obeyed.

He gently grazed the valve cover with his fingertips, applying a little pressure, hoping to coax his new lover into revealing himself.  Unfortunately, Perceptor was still uncomfortable with the idea of losing his seal and stopped Drift from going further.

“I would prefer to use my spike.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Drift smiled and drew his touch to Perceptor’s spike housing.  “Should I wait for you to search the Internet, again?” he teased.

“No.”  Perceptor abruptly turned them around, pinning Drift on his front.  “I have experience in utilizing my  _male_  equipment, thank you.”

“But you said-“

“I said I was  _untouched_.  I have never allowed someone to  _penetrate_  me.”  Perceptor nuzzled the side of Drift’s helm.  “And if you must know… It was  _Hot Rod_.”

The swordsmech’s reply was cut short as he felt Perceptor’s slender fingers trace his panel, encouraging him to retract his pelvic armor.  “H-Hot Rod?  You fucked…  _Hot Rod?_ ”  He rested his helm against the wall in disbelief.  Perceptor just went from an embarrassed, seemingly innocent virgin… to this unpredictable—and incredibly hot—sex machine.

“The real question is: Who hasn’t?”  Perceptor pressed his fingertips against a certain area of Drift’s array, coaxing the valve cover to slide open.  It was a trick he learned when Hot Rod was being a stubborn little bitch.

“And y-you wanted to take things slow?”

“Like I said, we are not guaranteed tomorrow.”

“AH- Hey, if we survive tomorrow, maybe we can do that courting thing?”

Perceptor guided his spike to Drift’s entrance.  “I would like that,” he murmured, pressing inside slowly.  The swordsmech was a lot tighter than he originally thought.

“Don’t hold back, Percy.  I’m not made of glass.”

The sniper was about to protest, when he felt Drift’s valve ripple along his length.  He grunted against his lover’s audial and gripped his hips tightly as if that would cease the squeezing of his spike.  It was too much.

Perceptor decided to trust him, though.  He guided the rest of his spike inside and brought a hand to Drift’s, holding it against the wall.

“After this… I… I don’t want you  _seeing_  Hot Rod again.”

“Very well.”

Perceptor withdrew slightly and pressed back in, coating himself with the racer’s lubricant before increasing the strength of his thrusts.  He had to remind himself that this wasn’t some easy, feel-better frag.  Drift wasn’t just going to up and leave him once it was all said and done.  That mech actually wanted to  _be_ with him, he  _liked_  him for more than his intelligence and large shlong.  It was hard to find a decent partner like that, especially during the war.

Drift released his gasps and moans of pleasure against the glass wall.  The acoustics of the washracks made every wet slide—every curse and groan—so audible, but they were at that point where it didn’t matter who heard them.  Thankfully, the heavy spray of cleanser helped in somewhat masking the noise.

The swordsmech shifted against Perceptor, only to be rewarded with an angry growl from the sniper’s engine.  He cried out at the sudden vibrations and clutched at the sniper’s hand.  “ _Fuck_ …”  He was so close, now.

Perceptor gripped Drift’s frame, holding him slightly off the floor as he began to throw his weight into his thrusts.  He sped up, feeling the valve quiver and clamp around his swelling spike.  Unlike his previous interface sessions, Perceptor kept his ‘dirty talk’ to a minimum as he didn’t want to offend Drift during their first time together.

It wasn’t long before the former Decepticon finally reached his overload, his pleasure drawn out by Perceptor’s own completion.

He shuddered and dimmed his optics as his lover leaned against him, venting heavily.  They were both exhausted and in need of a cool bath.

Good thing the cleanser was still running~

 

**Author's Note:**

> The “rituals” that Drift mentions refer back to All Hail Megatron #8 (I believe), where Perceptor was shot with an Insecticon dart. I like to think he was infected with a type of virus that doesn’t have a cure, but can be managed through daily injections. Perceptor prefers to take his medicine while everyone’s asleep, so no one bugs him about it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
